Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

‘Come, man! What is the matter with you?’

‘André — he is dead. A man has killed him!’

The two gaped for an instant, but then they were on their feet, bellowing for the tavern-keeper, thrusting the table from their paths as they rushed towards the door.

André lay in a doorway, his neck broken, his eyes staring, his tongue swollen and protruding a little. A gaggle of people had gathered nearby, a woman holding a little boy as though she could protect him from the memory of the sight — although it was more likely that she wanted to be saved from the sight herself. ‘It was my little Henri who found him, Master,’ she said.

‘When?’

The boy had been playing with a top, apparently, and found the dead man only a matter of moments after he had come from the church at the end of the Mass. They had sent for the Sergent immediately, and he had arrived very soon because he too had been at church.

‘What of Le Boeuf?’ Pons asked the Sergent.

He shrugged. ‘I came to fetch you as soon as this body was found.’

Pons had a feeling of dread as he glanced across the road, but would not admit to such feelings before these others. ‘Come!’ he said, and set off to Le Boeuf’s house.

The door was open, and Pons felt his shoulders droop. He made no pretence of caution. There was no point. He knew that the man was dead already. It was a small house, with only one large chamber below, and a ladder to climb to a smaller room up in the eaves. Pons went up, filled with dread at what he would find in the bedchamber, but when he reached it, there was nothing to be seen. Only rumpled clothing which reeked, and a rotten palliasse with straw so ancient, most was turned to dust.

‘Well?’ Vital called up to him.

‘Nothing. He’s not here.’

‘Shit of a witch!’ Vital swore.

Louvre

The Bishop of Exeter returned to his chamber with little sense of his alarm and concern being allayed. All that his prayers appeared to have achieved was a conviction that his position here was intolerable.

It was all the Queen’s fault! The woman should have agreed to go back to her husband without argument or delay, but no! She had to remain here and try to seek some additional damned concessions. Well, there would be none. And meanwhile, the Bishop’s own life was in danger, as he had predicted before coming here. Dear God, what he would give now for that prediction to be proved false!

‘Sir Richard, where is Sir Baldwin?’ he asked as he entered his chamber.

‘He’s been called to speak with the Cardinal, me Lord.’

‘Perhaps the Cardinal is to persuade him to go to the Queen’s side, then,’ Bishop Walter said musingly. ‘I should not be surprised. She is tempting all others here in France.’

‘I wouldn’t worry. With Simon and Baldwin and me, you’ll be secure enough,’ the imperturbable knight declared, peering with interest at a plate piled high with different dried meats.

‘Yes, Simon — where is he?’

‘He went out to the privy a little while ago.’

‘Oh. I see.’ The Bishop nodded, and walked to a chair, in which he sat and brooded a while.

‘You look worried still, me Lord Bishop,’ Sir Richard said, chewing at a sausage with an expression of distrust on his face. ‘Pah! Too little salt in that.’

‘I am concerned for the kingdom. The Queen’s irrational behaviour could bring untold damage to the King.’

‘What harm can she do? She’s here, the King’s there. Unless she tried to marry their son off to some princess, there’s not much she can achieve. She’s a woman, when all’s said and done.’

‘Women can be most capable at deceit and dissembling, don’t forget, Sir Richard … and this one is French,’ the Bishop added.

‘And alone.’

The Bishop clenched his fist and held it in the air. ‘Alone? She has persuaded many to rally to her. It was bad enough with a few contrary men who could not remain in the King’s realm at peace, but now I am convinced that she has succeeded in calling Lord John Cromwell to her side, and I believe de Beaumont will remain here with her. In England she has managed to convince many that she has been wronged — and yet look at her! Does she appear to be a woman who’s distressed?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Sir Richard said.

‘No,’ the Bishop agreed quietly. ‘Neither do I. Yet I do know that she is a friend of the Cardinal.’

‘You speak his title as if it’s poison in your mouth, me Lord.’

Walter Stapledon glanced over at the honest-faced knight. ‘I do not like that Cardinal. He strikes me as the kind of man who is too keen to provide for himself, and less likely to invest in the general good. Do you know, some years ago I had the duty of attending to the Pope. Clement was not the most rigorous man in his works, and I was occasionally forced to wonder about his motives in constantly acquiring new assets. Such jewels, such quantities of gold and silver … and one item I adored: a set of goblets which were quite extraordinary. Lovely workmanship. Pewter, but with delightful gilding.’

‘Aye.’ Sir Richard nodded politely, trying to concentrate.

‘And I saw the mate of those goblets in the Cardinal’s room. You see, I think he is as avaricious as any other. It is partly that which makes me fear him, for if the Queen were to offer him money, or Mortimer — God save us! — we would be entirely at the mercy of a man who would not scruple to remove obstacles.’

‘Hmm. You think he might attempt to kill you?’

‘I greatly fear it, yes. And if it would suit him, he would be happy to remove me by allowing rumours of my guilt in the death of the Procureur to flourish. Ah, me! What can I do?’

‘Sit and have some wine, me Lord. It’s very good.’

The Bishop smiled wearily. ‘I think my need is greater for spiritual support. And right now, I must leave and emulate Simon. Excuse me.’

‘D’you wish me to walk with you? After all you’ve said, surely it’s not safe for you to be alone? What if that man from the corridor should meet you again?’

‘I should be safe enough in broad daylight,’ the Bishop said with a grateful smile. ‘Even the Cardinal would not dare to attack me in the King’s castle in the sun.’

Outside, a little of his bleak mood left him. In truth, it was hard to be miserable while in a marvellous place like this. The Louvre was one of the most magnificent castles in the whole of Christendom, with the white stone making it shine in the afternoon light. Approaching it in broad sunlight was quite dazzling, because the white stonework mingled with the water of the immense moat to blind a man. Lovely, quite lovely.

After relieving himself, he wandered a little while, his mind running on the work he must yet complete before he could go home. It was the first time in a long time that he had been able to leave matters of state alone. Perhaps, he reflected, it was the result of the discussion with God in the chapel. He had seen fit to calm Bishop Walter’s fears and lend him a little ease.

‘Bishop? Are you all right?’

He turned to see Simon Puttock hurrying towards him, a look of concern twisting his features. ‘You are an extraordinary guard, Master Puttock,’ he smiled. ‘You leave me in my chapel, and then make the effort to seek me out while I’m enjoying the sun.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Would you like to come back now?’

‘No, it is good to take the air for a little.’

‘The air here is not so wholesome as that in your chamber, Bishop,’ Simon said firmly.

‘You wish me to be inside, where you may protect me more easily, and there is logic in that. But the cool air here seems to make my mind function more effectively.’